


What's in the name?

by SrebrnaFH



Series: Srebrna's Sherlock Oneshots [11]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Surprised Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 13:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16430759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: John turns up at the scene and goads Moriarty, betraying some intelligence unknown to Sherlock.





	What's in the name?

**Author's Note:**

> It was waiting for its time in my Scrivener project called "little pieces".  
> Just a little crazy speculation on why Moriarty prefers to be called Jim and not James ;)

Moriarty was certainly brilliant and absolutely, undoubtedly deranged.

The fact that he was holding a gun on a DI of NSY was a proof, if anybody needed one.

They could have tried negotiating, but for the fact that Lestrade had already been shot and was now slumping against the wall in an alarming fashion.

Anyway, negotiating with a madman on a train platform was not what Sherlock had in plans for that particular evening and even his mind needed some time to fire up with the right method to subdue the consulting criminal before the Detective Inspector came to even bigger harm.

Standing there _alone_ was even more of a deterrent to his thought process, as John had chosen yet again to go to a _pub_ with some old work buddies, instead of joining him on what had admittedly promised to be a three, at most.

And yet...

Slow, measured paces.

_Ah, here he comes._

"Oh, Sherlock, really?" Moriarty whined, noticing the sound at the same time. "I mean, does he always have to join us on these little outings?"

He didn't flinch, but he felt John's slight stiffening as he ambled closer.

"Why, are you afraid of a little competition... James?"

Moriarty didn't flinch either, but there was something unhealthy in the way his lip curled up.

"You see, Sherlock, James here..."

"My name is _Jim_."

"...has a tendency to get rid of his competition before they become a problem. Resolving issues in that fashion is what brought him to attention of his superiors. Am I correct, _James_?"

The glee in John's voice was equally unhealthy, after a fashion, but somehow still much more sound than the grimace now overpowering Moriarty's features.

"Shut up, little soldier" he growled, moving the point of his gun to John, and Sherlock's heart clenched.

" _James_ made it his method for advancement, actually. He started getting rid of people who might have been promoted ahead of him. Did he ever tell you where he had learnt all that fabulous stuff he uses?"

Sherlock managed to glance minutely at his friend, who was now strolling towards Lestrade, looking, by all means, completely unconcerned with the gun trained on him.

He crouched in front of the policeman.

"Hi, Greg. You good?"

"Just... bloody... peachy..."

"OK, keep pressure on this. We'll be out of here in a minute. Just as soon as James decides we are more trouble than we're worth."

"Fuck you!"

Oh, that was different.

It looked as if Moriaty was in fact losing his perfect control and (albeit thin) veneer of civilisation.

"No, thank you" John smirked at their enemy and cracked his fingers. "However I would be quite happy if you would hand yourself in, James. Much more satisfactory from my point of view."

There was something in the way Moriarty's eyes narrowed every time John used the full version of his Christian name. Something savage.

"John, what are you..."

"No worries, Sherlock. I have this handled. Unless James decides to start shooting, of course, because even I can't stop a bullet from ricocheting."

Moriarty was shaking and Sherlock watched him with fascination.

"Oh" he said finally, as the piece he was looking for slotted into place. "That James - I suppose, an enemy then, bested you?"

"Shut the fuck up" Moriarty moved back to him, mad glint in his eye.

"Oh, it gets better, James, doesn't it? He beat you at your own game. You had eliminated so many, within your own organisation, sneakily removing the competition, and he... he was there earlier and set a trap for you."

"I still beat that bastard" Moriarty seethed, turning to John again.

"Actually, he didn't" John winked at Sherlock. "James here was let go, you see, in a controlled fashion. Like an animal let back into the wild..."

Moriarty jumped. Snarling. Fingers clawing at John's face. Both hands empty.

Sherlock dived for the gun and turned on to his back, still sliding along the filthy platform, keeping Moriarty in his sights. However quite soon it turned out to be useless, as John had twisted the consulting criminal's hand behind his back and sat on him.

"Call the guys and tell them to get down here" John was handing him his mobile. "Quickdial, three. Tell them I'm sitting on the idiot, so they'd better hurry."

Whoever answered the phone simply made a confirming sound and disconnected.

"I suppose... they are coming? Who is... Ah, your coworkers? From a job before army? Doctors then, I'm guessing, yes, Lestrade needs some, absolutely. Why are they here and what is this whole 'James' thing about?"

Steps clanged on the last stairs at the end of the platform. A man, slightly older than John, maybe a bit taller, maybe a bit thinner, but definitely better dressed, walked towards them briskly. He leaned down, peering at Moriarty's face.

"Oh, hello, little James" the man smiled in a rather nasty way and held the arm John had been pressing, keeping Moriarty immobile. "Now, I will take Watson's place and let him help his friend while you and I have a little chat. Come on, up you go. Nice and easy."

And the man just... raised Moriarty to a vertical position.

"Wait" Lestrade breathed. "Where are you... What..."

"Don't worry, DI Lestrade" the man next to the blonde saluted them sloppily. "MI6 will be in contact."

"Stop _squirming_ , Greg" John held him tighter, putting better pressure on the wound. "James, next Thursday?"

"Absolutely. I still need to win that watch back."

"No worries. Next time don't bet your favourites."

John's wrist was, in fact, adorned by something that had probably cost more than John's entire collection of electronic devices.

Sherlock made a small, inquisitive sound.

"James bets the watches, I bet... well, other things, and we play cards."

"And the others?"

John shrugged, wrapping Lestrade's arm with bandage.

"Keeping a respectful distance, as we watch our old second in command get his ass whipped at poker by our commander. Or vice versa, as it was the case today" another agent joined them. "Here, let me press this, you will be able to wrap him two-handed."

John didn't even blink, keeping his eyes intent on Lestrade. But he was smiling. Just a bit.

_Second in command...? Oh, bad doctor. Bad doctor._


End file.
